Of Black and White and Red
by funyarinpaths
Summary: "She's painted the world you live in with bright, vibrant hues... A stark contrast to the grey-scale filter lying over nature's predictable patterns; a simple algorithm which you can crack oh so easily... But she's developed a code that not even you can figure out." - Dedicated to ruri (aka brutalities) for the secret santa exchange! Merry christmas!


**A/N:**

 **like it says in the summary, this fic is dedicated to ruri (aka brutalities) for the secret santa exchange! merry christmas, and** **i hope you like it! owo**

 *** i dont own the dangan ronpa series, or any of its characters.**

 **** t/w for implied abusive (?) relationship / hateship.**

* * *

 _Boring._ How utterly... dull. The world is so. monotonous, so -

Predictable. It's all too easy for you, because where's the fun in predicting the future when it's all laid out in front of you, lying open like a book?

None whatsoever.

Especially bland are those in the Reserve Course - pitiful and feeble excuses of human beings who are born without talent, restricting those who _do_ have talent from rising. They are heavy chains, dragging the talented down from their thrones, while the lesser beings think they can use talent that is not even their own as footholds to climb to the top.

 _Pathetic_.

Except for _her_ , of course. Everything she does, and everything she _is_... Her entire being, you label as _uncertain_. Strange. She's erratic and capricious; she's everything that you need, and yet nothing that you want. Or maybe it's the other way around.

You. don't... know. For once, you don't know the answer, you don't know _why_. Why she makes you feel this way.

She's everything that you want, and yet nothing that you need. (Yes, maybe _that_ sounds better.)

She gets equally as tired of the unsurprising nature of the world as you do. Maybe even more so. And yet she's brought forth scenarios that have ultimately caught you by complete surprise.

You didn't foresee her death. Even though you knew she'd thought ten steps ahead, you never thought that you would resort to this. But you are grateful; it's brought you despair, and with it - pleasure. You pleasure in the despair that her death brought to you.

You _despise_ the girl, but you would - and _will_ \- do anything for her. You're fully prepared to do what you must.

You remember her fingers, lightly glossing over the back of your spine, then sharp _red_ fingernails digging deep, deep into your skin; intoxicating and poisonous. You remember the exchange of hissed _I hate you's_ back and forth, back and forth. And you relished every moment of it.

It still disgusts you to have been so... _intimate_ with the object of your hatred, but it pleasured you, so. Much. You were drowning in anger, despair, hate - and you loved it. But you also despised it.

But you. Need. _More_.

She's everything you need, and yet nothing that you want. (Or is she? Your thoughts about her are about as constant as her _personality_ \- which is to say, _not at all_.)

With _her_ , you don't know what's up or down, left or right. All you know is her cotton-candy soft strawberry-blonde hair, her bright red fingertips stained with even brighter blood, her insanity-filled sapphire eyes... She's all _colors_ and blinding light, but also deep darkness that is _despair_.

She's painted the world you live in with bright, vibrant hues... A stark contrast to the grey-scale filter lying over nature's predictable patterns; a simple algorithm which you can crack _oh so easily_... But she's developed a code that not even _you_ can figure out.

She brings yellow and green and blue, and also black and white and - _r e d_ ... She's never bored you. _Never_.

You hate her for intruding upon your comfortable life of constants and dullness, but you grow excited at the fact that you'll have something new and stimulating to look forward to.

She is everything that you want, and everything that you need - and you hate her for it. (You're still unsure if that's really the case, though.)

You're on a boat, and you're visibly exhilarated for a few moments - until the man across the room speaks. Then the rocking gets tedious again. The world gets colored in black and white again and -

he shows his hand - _her_ hand, and really, all you can see are her sharp. _red. painted. fingernails._

But the world fades away, and -

you're bored, _again_. But you won't be for long, because you're not going to be Kamukura Izuru for much longer.

Enoshima Junko is everything that you want, and everything that you need, and _everything that you will be._

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **im sorry, this is. so bad... i've never written for dr chars before, and i'm even not sure i captured their hateship or their character (or anything) correctly, but this was kind of my interpretation and i just rolled with it, lol**

 **(also uh. this is _really_ short asdfkjl; i'm sorry)**


End file.
